


First Date?

by NotYourKhakis



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Beacon Hills Java, Coffee Shops, Derek is a film buff, Lots of dialogue, M/M, Slow Build, Stiles being Stiles, date setup
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-25 12:31:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3810499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotYourKhakis/pseuds/NotYourKhakis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This work attempts to get Stiles and Derek together for the first time.  The first chapter is the first fanfic I wrote.  It was written in a challenge with a friend.  It seems to have turned into a slow burn with a lot of talking and not much action, but I'm trying.  The setting for the work is around Season One.</p><p>In Chapter One, Stiles and Derek meet up in a coffee shop.  They talk.  Plans are made.  Chapter Two takes us to Stiles' house and a curious conversation between Derek and the sheriff.  Stiles intrudes, because he Stiles, right?</p><p>Thanks for reading and for your nice comments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles sat at his favorite table by the window in Beacon Hills Java. He liked this place. It had much more atmosphere than the Starbucks near the freeway.  It served as a sort of haven for him.  No high schoolers came here, the place was quiet except for some sort of world music they played, and it just had a nice feel.  And the caffeine, combined with Adderrall, seemed to calm him when he was feeling especially unfocused.

He gazed out the window.  A few people going about their business, not much foot traffic on a Saturday afternoon. He sensed something to his right and turned to face the crotch of a pair of faded black jeans.

“Where’s Scott?”

Stiles’ eyes moved up to Derek’s face.  “‘Hey, Stiles, good to see ya.  You doing okay?  I missed you.’ Doing well, Derek, thanks for asking.”

“Funny guy,” Derek muttered as he sat down heavily in the chair opposite Stiles. “So?  Where is he?”

Stiles sighed.  This guy seemed immune to his witty repartee.  Others found it amusing.  Well, some did. Probably.  “He’s coming," Stiles assured him, "relax already.”

Stiles’ phone chirped.  He reached to his bag on the floor and pulled it out.  A text from Scott:  Cant make it. With A. Sorry, it read.  Stiles looked up at Derek.  “He’s not coming.  He’s with Allison.”

Derek gave his Sour Wolf look and started to get up.  Suddenly, the idea of sitting at this place alone on a Saturday afternoon seemed almost more than Stiles could bear. “Dude,” he said, “just chill. Have some coffee.”

Derek looked at him.  If Stiles didn’t know better, he’d have sworn Derek actually looked startled.  “Don’t you ever just sit back and relax?” he said quickly. “Jesus, it’s not going to kill you to sit down and have a cup of friggin’ coffee with me, is it?” He figured he’d better talk fast while Derek seemed off balance.  “You know, coffee might actually do you good.  You wolves are always going on about your heightened senses and all that, and caffeine is a central nervous system stimulant so it should help heighten your senses. You want heightened senses, don’t you? We can’t have you turning into a dull-witted wolf.  That wouldn’t be good. Word might get around that Beacon Hills wolves are bad-asses and all, but, you know, kind of dim. Of course, I’m not saying that’s the case but if you got that kind of rep in the wolfie community, well, doesn’t seem like it would play too well.  I haven’t actually researched the effects of caffeine on wolves or, well, you know, _were_ wolves, but I could if you want me to.  The Adderrall keeps me up late sometimes so I research a lot of things.  It wouldn’t be any trouble.  Just say the word….”  Stiles wound down and just looked at Derek, whose face seemed to have softened slightly.

Derek held Stiles’ gaze for a moment.  His face returned to its usual impenetrable expression.  “All right,” Derek said, resignedly.  “Just shut the fuck up.  I’ll stay for a minute.  But just a minute.” Derek walked to the counter to order coffee.

Stiles turned back to face the window, the slightest smile on his face. He wasn’t sure why he was so anxious to have Derek stay.  Derek tended to scare him, but Stiles was drawn to him somehow. _Just calm the fuck down, Stiles, you’ll scare him off_ , he lectured to himself. The idea of him scaring Derek struck him as so funny that he broke into a full-on smile.

Derek trudged back to the table, holding a large cup of café au lait. He set it on the table, sat down, took a sip, and looked up at Stiles’ smiling face.  “What?”

Stiles managed to dial down his smile to a smirk. “Nothing.  I just don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat or drink anything. Ever.”

“Huh,” Derek grunted, “well, now you have,” he said as he set his cup back on the table.

“Dude,” Stiles said, “you really need to work on your attitude.”

“My attitude.”

“Yeah. Seriously.  ‘My attitude.’  Come on, grow a sense of humor.  I know you’ve got this whole wolf mystique to maintain, but Jesus.  At least make an effort.  Here I am, asking you to sit and have coffee with me even though I know you’ve thought about killing me a few times.  Probably more than a few times.  Nevertheless, I’m extending a hand of friendship.  You could at least _pretend_ to take an interest.  I know Scott’s your boy because he’s the one who can help you and all, but….” Stiles ground to a halt.

Derek continued to stare at Stiles, then said simply, “I’m interested in you, Stiles.”

Stiles didn’t quite know what to say.  “You’re interested in me.”

“Otherwise, I would have killed you a long time ago.  Actions speak louder than words, I’d say.”

“Dude, you just told me you’ve thought about _killing_ me.  That’s harsh.” Stiles wasn’t altogether surprised, but he didn’t really like having it confirmed.  “Harshness, thy name is Derek.”

“You seem like a guy who can handle the truth.  You underestimate yourself.”  Derek looked thoughtful before adding, “Except when you overestimate yourself.”

“Ohhh-kay. Change of subject. No more talk of killing Stiles or Stiles’ self-esteem issues.”

“Fine,” Derek said as he took another sip of coffee and simply looked at Stiles. That was something he’d noticed about Derek.  For all his secrets and lies and general mysteriousness surrounding him, Derek could be very direct: Stiles wanted to change the subject, fine.  Stiles liked this aspect of Derek.  It was a stark contrast to Stiles’ own conflicted way of viewing the world in which he was constantly trying to work out the meaning of things, trying to figure things out, always asking why.  Derek’s ability to just accept certain things without questioning them was an enviable way of looking at the world.  Stiles knew this attitude was one of the things that comforted him when he was around Derek. It was also a turn-on for Stiles. That, and Derek’s formidable physical presence in his worn black leather jacket, gray shirt stretched tight across his chest, and his ridiculously tight jeans that hugged his ridiculous thighs. Stiles felt his groin stirring and ordered himself to avoid this line of thinking.  While Stiles was okay with his attraction to Derek, he wasn’t at all sure if it was reciprocated and he wasn’t interested in pressing the point with someone who could literally rip him in half.

“So, what do you do for fun?” Stiles asked.

Derek stilled his cup of coffee halfway to his mouth.  “Fun.”

“Yeah, what sort of things do you do when you’re not chasing after other werewolves or terrorizing people?”  It occurred to Stiles that he hadn’t given much thought to how Derek spent his time while Scott and Stiles were at school.  “As far as I know, you don’t have a job, you don’t go to school. Judging from your house, well, it doesn’t look like you’re into home improvement.”  Derek’s house was a sensitive subject since most of his family had died in it, but he seemed to receive the remark without reaction. “I guess you work out.” Stiles’ eyes briefly dropped to Derek’s torso before he remembered himself and quickly looked back up at Derek’s face, which seemed to be smirking slightly. Stiles’ groin was doing its happy dance again.  _Move on, Stiles._  

“Movies,” Derek stated, without further explanation.  Typical.

 _“Movies?”_ Stiles uttered, surprised. Derek’s eyebrows dropped into dangerous territory, so Stiles hurried on, “You like movies. Huh.”  Stiles pondered this unexpected piece of information.

“Something wrong with that?”  Menacing Derek was definitely in the house.

“Dude, no, of course not,” Stiles said quickly.  “It’s just…surprising.  Or, yeah, unexpected.”

“Why’s that?”  Derek rarely asked questions that weren’t mocking or rhetorical, but this one sounded sincere.

“I don’t know,” Stiles said.  “I’m just…having trouble picturing it.”

“When you and your little friends are at school, worrying who’s going to prom with whom, I go to movies.  Doesn’t seem so unusual.”  Derek’s tone sounded almost defensive.

“It’s cool,” Stiles reassured him.  Stiles found the idea of his reassuring Derek both funny and absurd, but he tried to keep his expression neutral.  “I’m a big movie fan, too.”  It was true. Stiles went to a lot of movies but rarely got a chance to talk about them.  He would go to a movie with Scott, but Scott never seemed to have many opinions about them.  To his credit, Scott would usually let Stiles talk about them, but that wasn’t very satisfying.

“Really,” Derek seemed skeptical.  No surprise there.

“Oh yeah, I’m kind of a movie whore.  I’ll watch just about anything.  Hollywood blockbusters at the theater, independent movies when I can find them, old black-and-white movies on TCM, you name it.  Weird that I’ve never seen you at the theater.” There was only one movie theater in Beacon Hills, so it seemed likely that they would have run into each other.

“I’ve seen you there,” Derek said.

Stiles wasn’t sure if he was flattered that Derek had noticed him or creeped out by Derek watching him while he wasn’t aware of it.

“But I usually go to weekday matinees,” Derek continued. “Not as crowded. Sometimes I’ll have the theater to myself.”  Stiles pictured Derek alone in a dark theater, the shadows flickering on Derek’s dark features. It seemed kind of sad, or lonely, or something.  “And I drive to Eureka sometimes if there’s an Indie I want to see that I know won’t come to Beacon Hills.  There’s an art house there that shows some pretty unusual things.  They just had a French new wave retrospective that was amazing.”

Stiles didn’t quite know what to do with this new side of Derek. Derek seemed almost _animated_ when he talked about film.  And this was certainly the most he could ever remember Derek saying about anything that didn’t have to do with being a werewolf.

“Hey, maybe we could go to a movie together sometime,” Stiles blurted out, then realized it might sound like he was asking Derek on a _date._   “I mean, you know, we’ve found something we both enjoy.  A kind of common interest.  Other than Scott.”  _Was_ he asking Derek out on a date?

Derek stared at him for a moment, not speaking.  He seemed to be considering.

“You don’t talk during movies, do you?” Derek asked.  “I don’t go to movies to chat.”

“Dude, you don’t ever _chat_. That’s one area of expertise where I’ve got you beat, hands down.  But no, I don’t talk during movies.  Give me _some_ credit.”

Derek returned to his stony silence.  He seemed to be sizing up Stiles, considering whether Stiles was a worthy movie companion.  _Fuck this,_ Stiles thought, _I should walk out of here right now._

“There’s a showing of ‘Rebecca’ at the theater in Eureka next weekend. I’ve never seen it on the big screen,” Derek said at last.

“Is that an invitation?” Stiles asked, smiling.

Derek pushed back his chair and stood up, his crotch back at eye level with Stiles. Stiles forced himself to look up at Derek’s face.  Fucking _ridiculous_ jeans!

“Yes, it’s an invitation,” it seemed to pain Derek to admit. “But I mean it, Stiles, you cannot talk during the movie.  That seems to be a problem for you sometimes.  Not being able to shut up.”

Stiles smiled at Derek, “Okay, yes, I’d like to go and no I won’t talk. ‘Rebecca’ was one of the first Hitchcock films I ever saw, one of the first black and white films I can remember seeing.”

“Fine,” Derek said, gruffly.  “I’ll pick you up next Saturday morning at ten o’clock.  There’s a one o’clock showing, but we’ll need to eat first.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Stiles tried to hide his enthusiasm but was pretty sure he wasn’t successful at it.  “It’s a date,” said Stiles.   _Date?  Had he said that? It just slipped out. Fuck._

“Yes, it is,” Derek answered as he turned and strode toward the door. He was outside and moving down the street before Stiles was fully aware of what had happened.

Date. Derek had said it was a date. Was Stiles reading too much into this? People have lunch dates all the time, that doesn’t mean they’re _dates_. What if it _was_ a date?  Would Derek want to have sex with him?  Stiles couldn’t even begin to process that.  _Just slow down, Stiles. Nobody, certainly not Derek, wants your skinny ass.  Just one thing at a time.  Hmm, I do need to do some research on “Rebecca.”  I haven’t seen it in at least a few years.  I need to have something intelligent to say._

Stiles quickly bussed the table, threw some money in the tip jar, and headed outside to his Jeep.  He needed to get home and do some research on all of Hitchcock’s early period. It wasn’t Stiles’ strongest suit and there was no reason to appear stupid in front of Derek. And while he was researching, maybe he’d see what he could find about human-werewolf sex.  Just in case.


	2. Sheriff Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and the sheriff have a talk. Stiles is caught by surprise.

Stiles whipped his car into the Stilinski driveway and hopped out.  He made a beeline for the front door while fiddling with his phone.  He had spent his last class of the day mapping out coffee shops on the road between Beacon Hills and Eureka because taking a road trip and getting caught short of caffeine was just irresponsible.  As he made his way from the driveway to the front door, he was perusing places to eat near the theater in Eureka for the trip tomorrow.  He had just pulled up the menu of a promising shawarma restaurant in Eureka as he stepped through the door. He threw his backpack on the floor as usual.

“Hey, dad,” he yelled, coming through the door, assuming his father would either be upstairs or in his study.

“Hello, Stiles,” his father answered from his chair in the living room, just a few feet away.

Stiles looked up with a smile that quickly went slack.  His father sat in his recliner; Derek sat on the sofa.  _Wait. Derek.  On the sofa.  In his house._ Both were looking at him.  His stomach lurched.  He slowly lowered his phone.

Struggling to maintain at least a little composure, Stiles said, “Hey...Derek.  What are you doing here?”

“Hello, Stiles,” Derek said evenly.

“What...are you _doing_ here?” he repeated uncertainly.

“Derek dropped by to have a little chat with me,” his father said, his face unreadable.

“Really?” Stiles hedged, “What about?”  Stiles had a sinking feeling.

“We were just talking about this trip you have planned for tomorrow.  I don’t believe you mentioned that.”

“Oh, the trip?” Stiles palmed the back of his neck.  ”Uh right, the trip.  I, uh, didn’t mention that?  Huh, I guess it just slipped my mind.”  Stiles eyed his father warily, trying to assess the damage.  He couldn’t tell exactly how much trouble he was in.  ”You’re sure I didn’t mention that?” Stiles tried.

“It seems to me,” the sheriff said casually, “that you mentioned spending all day at Scott’s tomorrow.  Something about a Halo marathon.”

“Yeah?”  Stiles was failing miserably at covering.

“Yes,” his father said succinctly, going in for the kill.

“Oh right, the _marathon_.  Right.  Yeah, that got canceled.  Scott, um, had some things to do.”  Stiles was struggling mightily to get his groove back.  ”Yeah, you know Scott, some paper that’s due Monday and he hasn’t done anything on it yet.  So yeah, he’s definitely tied up tomorrow.”  Stiles knew he wasn’t pulling this off very well, but Stilinskis aren’t quitters.  ”And since Scott was busy and Derek needed some company on the drive, I figured I’d tag along.  Right, Derek?” 

Stiles looked beseechingly at Derek, who raised a single eyebrow but didn’t say a thing.  _Thanks, buddy._

“You know, it’s a long drive to Eureka and we wouldn’t want Derek falling asleep at the wheel or anything,” Stiles prattled on, pissed at Derek for not jumping in and helping bail him out.  ”So kind of a win-win, what with you working all day tomorrow and me otherwise on my own.  It’s really kind of lucky that things turned out the way they did, don’t ya think, Dad?  I was reading the other day that something like forty percent of single-car accidents are caused by drivers falling asleep.  Wouldn’t want that to happen to Derek here, would we?  Safety first, like you’re always saying. And you know, we’ll be back early.  Before dark, right Derek?  So it’s all good.  Glad it worked out like this.  It takes a village to...go to a movie.  Or, well, you get the idea.”  Even Stiles was willing to admit that this was not going well.  Maybe it was time for some forthrightness, something he generally reserved only for emergencies.  “So...you’re good with the trip, Dad?  No objections on your part, I assume, since you wouldn’t want to endanger Derek’s life by making him drive all alone with nothing but his thoughts for company.”

Stiles’ father -- and Derek, the _traitor_ \-- remained silent.  The sheriff’s gaze stayed locked on Stiles.  ”I think maybe Derek would like something to drink, wouldn’t you, Derek?” his father said, breaking the uncomfortable silence.  Derek started to say something, but the sheriff cut him off.  ”Yes, that’s what I thought.  Stiles, why don’t you get Derek a soda?  I think I’ll have a beer.”

“Right.  Sure.  You bet, Dad.  Derek, can you give me a hand in the kitchen?”

“No, Derek and I aren’t quite finished with our talk.  You go get things started.  We’ll be there in a minute.”  His father was using his I’ve-got-you-now voice.  Stiles _hated_ that voice. 

“Um.  Sure,” Stiles said, not at all sure.  ”I’ll just be…out here…in the kitchen.  So.  Yeah.  Kitchen,” he finished weakly as he slunk to the other room.  

He tried to eavesdrop on what the two of them were saying, but all he could catch were some murmurs.  His dad was doing most of the talking but Derek was speaking occasionally, also in low tones.   _Damn them both!_

At last, the sheriff made his way into the kitchen with an arm slung over Derek’s shoulders.  Derek looked almost cowed.  Decidedly _un-_ alpha-like.

The bottle of beer and glass of soda sat on the kitchen table, waiting for them.  They sat down and his father leaned back, taking a long slug of his beer and hooking one elbow on the back of the chair.  Derek sat very straight in his chair, took a sip of his soda, and put the glass back down.

Stiles had had enough.  ”All right, Dad, you’ve had your fun.  So what’s the verdict?  Do I get to go or not?”

His dad looked at Stiles with the slightest smile.  ”I think Derek and I have come to an understanding.”  The sheriff cut his eyes toward Derek.  ”Would you say that’s right, Derek?”

Derek nodded slightly, “Yes, sir.” 

Stiles was finding this meek version of Derek unsettling.

“There you go, Stiles,” his father smiled smugly.  ”Derek took a novel approach to this.  Honesty.  You should try it sometime.”

His father hoisted himself out of the chair and ambled back toward the living room.  ”If you boys will excuse me, I think there’s a game on TV that’s about to start.”

Stiles did _not_  like the self-satisfied spring in his father’s step, but he mostly just felt relief as he collapsed into the closest kitchen chair.

Sounds of a baseball game drifted in from the living room.  Stiles noted that the volume was lower than his father usually kept it.   _Great, he was trying to listen in on their conversation._  

Stiles looked over at Derek.  ”What the _hell_  were you thinking?” he began in a furious whisper.  Derek started to speak but Stiles cut him off.  ”Oh it’s fine,” Stiles dismissed.  “Rookie mistake.  I’m just glad it worked out.  But _Jesus_ , Derek, if you want to know how to handle my father, give me a heads up and I’ll give you some pointers.  That man,” he made a vague gesture toward the living room, “is wily.”

Derek looked at Stiles.  ”Wily?  He’s just looking out for you –”

“Oh, never mind,” Stiles was still rattled from the whole situation.  ”So we’re still set?  Tomorrow at ten?”

“Yes, Stiles, we’re set.”  Derek’s eyes softened a little, his eyebrows relaxing a fraction from his chronic frowny-brows. He seemed to remember himself and uttered, “Idiot.” But Stiles thought there was a little warmth there.  Maybe. There _could_ be.  Derek’s eyes shifted to his glass, as if uncomfortable.  He took another sip and set the glass down.

With that, Derek stood up and headed to the living room, Stiles trailing behind.  Derek made his way toward the door but stopped to look at the game that had just gotten underway.  Derek exchanged a few words with the sheriff about the game and baseball in general, talking stats and drafts and other unfathomably arcane things about the game. _How the hell does Derek know anything about baseball?_ Stiles drifted a bit and _may_ have pictured Derek in a baseball uniform, with those tight white pants and the muscles and the showering afterward and….” _Okay, just stop_.  _Damn this ADD and overactive imagination._ _Damn Derek Hale and his ridiculously tight jeans and baseball knowledge._

This Derek-Dad bonding was getting far too cozy for Stiles’ taste and he certainly didn’t need to be popping a boner with his dad right _here_.  He needed Derek out of the house _yesterday_. Who knew what kind of damage Derek had already wrought by showing up here?  Stiles was still having trouble wrapping his mind around the idea of Derek and his father sitting and talking about anything.  And he was pretty sure baseball was not the topic of discussion before he showed up.  Stiles did his best to shoo Derek toward the door, but werewolves do not shoo easily.

At last, Derek said his goodbyes to the sheriff and stepped outside. On the porch, Derek turned and looked like he was going to say something to Stiles, but Stiles shut the door firmly with a quick “See ya.”  He breathed a sigh of relief, his back against the door.

Stiles hovered in the living room, waiting to see if the shit was really going to hit the fan now that Derek was gone.  After a few minutes, his father glanced up at him.  ”Stiles?”

“Dad,” Stiles rejoined.

“Anything you want to add?” his father asked, still looking far too smug for Stiles’ liking.

“No, Dad.”  He paused.  ”So...we’re all good here?  No post-visit lectures.  Just.  That’s it?”

“Lectures?” his dad asked.  “Are you needing a lecture, Son?” Oh, this man was milking it.  ”A lecture about lying to me?  Or about planning out-of-town trips without asking me?  Or about trusting me with...whatever you need to trust me with?”

Stiles’ mouth opened to reply, but nothing came to him.  ”No, Dad, I think I’m good.”

His father eyed him for a moment.  ”Stiles, it’s getting close to dinner time.  Shall we order something?”

“What?” Stiles started.  Wow, he was more on edge than he’d even realized.

“Yeah, dinner, of course.  I could make something, but yeah, if you want to order out, that’s fine.”

“Hey,” his father said magnanimously, “it’s Friday night.  I think pizza’s in order.  Whaddaya say, Stiles?”

“Pizza,” Stiles was still unnerved, but was starting to relax.  ”Sure, pizza. Veggie or veggie deluxe?  It’s Friday night, like you said.”  Stiles made his way to the stack of take-out menus they kept by the phone, “What’ll it be?”

“Hmm,” his father seemed to ponder the question.  ”I think I’m in the mood for something a little more substantial tonight,” he said, taking another swig of beer.

“Okay,” Stiles said.  ”So deluxe, then?”

“I think the meat lover’s super-deluxe sounds about right,” his father said. “Large,” he added.

“The meat –”  Stiles looked horrified.  ”Dad, you can’t –”  Stiles hesitated, realizing what game his father was playing.  ”You bastard!”  Stiles blurted out.

“Stiles, language,” his father said mildly.  ”Now, did you want to order or did you want me to?” 

Stiles furrowed his brow, looking at his father.  ”Stiles?” his father asked again, all innocence, a smug smile tugging at his mouth.

“I’ll _do_  it,” Stiles snapped, turning back toward the phone and muttering as his father turned the volume up on the television.

“What’s that, Stiles?  I didn’t catch that last bit,” his father purred.

“Nothing,” Stiles bit back what he wanted to say and slouched into the chair by the phone.  As Stiles was placed on hold, he couldn’t help a grudging admiration for his father.  Stiles wasn’t used to being outmaneuvered like this.

He blamed Derek for all of it.  And yes, there would be words about this.

Turning back to the thought of the inevitable high-cholesterol pizza, he sighed. He was going to have to insist on salads all week.  With kale. Even Stiles didn’t like kale.

Derek Hale was going to have to do some serious explaining about what all this had been about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't seem to get the boys out of town. Next chapter, I promise. 
> 
> I do kind of enjoy the sheriff one-upping Stiles. And what was Derek up to, braving the Stilinski house without Stiles?

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. So what do you think? -- is it a date-date in Derek's mind, or is he just humoring Stiles? Comments welcome (but be nice).


End file.
